


Seeking Counsel

by XScribe



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Implied Relationships, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Past Relationship(s), non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:50:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1892778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XScribe/pseuds/XScribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The A.D. discovers his estranged wife is cheating on him. To cope, he turns to the best psychologist he could hope for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeking Counsel

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Siberianskys for encouragement and for helping me post this thing! 
> 
> Original post date at The Basement, Nov 7, 2003

Once again the pixels on the computer monitor blended into a blur as Skinner gazed at them. Removing his glasses, he rubbed his eyes. It was late. He was alone in the office. But he had backlogged work--by fault of his own. Instead of conducting personal surveillance on Sharon, he should have been on the job.

But what did he expect? As long as they'd been separated--physically as well as mentally--why should she subject herself to solitude? He knew it was inevitable she'd find someone else to keep her company. And as beautiful as she kept herself, she'd have no problem finding a replacement for her absent husband. He thought--hoped--he'd understand when the time came.  
But the all-night presence of that dark blue Acura on the driveway of the house he'd bought for Sharon had been far more painful to withstand than Skinner had expected.

Replacing his glasses, he refocused on the screen. For a few moments, his attention returned to his work.

He'd already run the prick's license plate and got a name and address; running a background check would be relatively simple. He'd not wait and assign Kim the task in the morning; he'd go straight to the records department, himself. This was personal.

A soft knock on the door startled him. Who the fuck had the audacity to call on him at this hour? It was too early for the janitor who would have begun work in the outer office first, without interrupting the assistant director. It had to be that chain-smoking bastard. Pretending not to have heard the summon, Skinner squinted harder at the screen and file before him.

Another soft knock. "Sir? Are you there? It's Mulder."

Skinner winced. He didn't have to answer. He could have just remained silent; Mulder could be a pest, but he had the sense to know when to back off.

But instead, Skinner hastily tucked his glass of bourbon in a drawer. By the time he reached the door and opened it, he saw Mulder on his way out of the dark outer office. "What is it, Agent Mulder?"

The illumination in the room was only from that lamplight streaming in from Skinner's office.

Just enough to make Mulder out when he paused to look back. "My report, just like you asked. I left it on your assistant's desk."

In Skinner's present state of mind, he recalled having lashed out at several agents that day, demanding they have their reports waiting on his desk the next morning. It figured Mulder would be the only one to stay at the office until the report was finished then hand-deliver it the evening before. "Bring it in here." Turning, Skinner promptly went back to his desk.

Never a kiss-ass, a couple of beats passed before Mulder appeared at the doorway and entered, holding the inter-office envelope. His tie was loosened, his jacket mildly rumpled. "I shouldn't have bothered you." He delivered the parcel to Skinner's desk. "But you did make it clear you wanted this report ASAP."

The only real urgency had more to do with asserting control than anything else. Skinner glanced at the envelope. "Thank you for your timeliness."

When Mulder looked Skinner over, he paused. "Sir." His tone softened. "Was there anything else?"

Skinner's first instinct was to dismiss his subordinate. But had the sense not to overlook the advantage of the situation. The powers that existed had just granted him a favor. Before him stood an Oxford-educated, highly-qualified, skilled psychologist. Previously, Skinner had sought counsel elsewhere--outside of Bureau resources. But this was different. This was Mulder. "Do you have a minute?"

Naturally, the ever-sympathetic agent caved. Defiantly, he wavered at first but then sat down in one of the guest seats. "Sir."

Stalling, Skinner found himself straightening the files and papers on his desk. Actually, it wasn't just to temporize; he meant to present a perfectly orderly, calm, rational facade. He cleared his throat. "You remember my wife, Sharon?"

"Y - yes," Mulder replied, sounding cautious.

Good boy. "The thing is, I'd prefer not to have to contact the resident bureau psychologist."

"Sir?"

"For marriage counseling," Skinner quickly provided. "Things are . . . " He continued to restlessly shuffle files and papers. "I'm having a little trouble focusing on my work . . . since I recently learned . . . she's become involved with someone else."

"Mrs. Skinner? I - I'm sorry to hear that."

Because Mulder evidently hadn't figured out why he'd been asked to stay, Skinner went on. Exhaling. "I'd prefer not to have to enlist the services of the Bureau shrink, if you know what I mean."

"Y - yes, sir." Mulder paused again. "I'm sorry but marriage counseling is not my forte."

After tucking some forms away, Skinner slammed the drawer shut. "Don't give me any horse shit. You were married once, yourself. Aside from being a crack behavioral psychologist, you've got experience. You've been through divorce."

X

Being a weeknight, the bar was a little less than half full. Having downed the remainder of his glass of bourbon before leaving the office, Skinner decided not to stray from his poison.

Though he invited Mulder to order anything he wanted, he requested a Heineken, which he proceeded to hardly touch.  
Seeking counseling had always been difficult for Skinner. It took him several drinks and Mulder's earnest tactics, but Skinner finally, carefully laid open some of the wounds. The counselor understood, all right. He'd lived through his parents' divorce, then later divorced his wife, after a suitably long courtship and three-year marriage.

"How would you have felt," Skinner ventured, tie loosened by then, "if you'd found out your wife was sleeping with someone else?"

"Devastated." Leaning into the corner of the booth, Mulder took another sip of his warming Heineken. "Sort of."

Stunned, Skinner leveled his squint at the agent in the low lighting of the bar. "'Sort of'? How the hell could any one be only 'sort of' devastated over something like that?"

"Um, well . . . " Mulder diverted his own gaze around. "My wife and I seldom slept together toward the last several months.  
Considering her appetite, I really couldn't have been surprised if she had."

Of course the counselor was right. For all Skinner's resistance, Sharon may have been sleeping with other men long before. "But if you had discovered it . . . "

"I would have left her. Which was exactly the way things went between us. It would have hurt, but I really couldn't have hated her for it. I knew damn well I wasn't delivering at home. I couldn't have blamed her if she'd gone elsewhere."

The same was true of Skinner. And not just for several months. Years. Mulder's demeanor was calm. Accepting. This was the reasoning of a rational, highly intelligent psychologist. This was the picture of how Skinner should react to the situation. Though Mulder had had years to heal, as well. "Am I being irrational? Tailing her? Checking up on this guy?"

"No, sir. You're simply guarding your territory. It's a perfectly natural instinct. It's going to be difficult for you to perform your work through this, but believe it or not, you will get over it."

If the counselor said it, it had to be the truth. Skinner emptied his glass. "How long does it take?"

"Everyone's different." The handsome hazel eyes tracked some patrons who'd just come in. "Less than a year after Diana and I married, I realized I didn't love her. So it didn't take long for me to get over our divorce. But you and Sharon are completely different. You still love her. Very much, though you've always been reticent to let her know. When I met her, I knew she was just as much in love with you. It's going to take a lot longer for you to get over this."

Restlessly swirling the ice cubes in his glass, Skinner sharply looked up to order another drink. "Where the hell is that damn waitress?"

"There is hope for your situation, though," Mulder added.

"Oh?" Skinner intoned dubiously. "Like what? From where I'm standing, my most promising prospect would be to go kick this guy's ass. I'm a fucking assistant director for the FBI. I'd like to go shove my badge down his throat, pistol-whip him, then crush his balls into obliteration with my boot heel."

Amused, Mulder laughed quietly over his mug. "I'm sure you would, sir. And I'd be inclined to help you do it. But I wouldn't be much of a psychologist if I went around encouraging clients to act on their aggressions."

What "marriage counselor" would have had the balls to tender such a candid answer? "Then what do you suggest I do with my aggressions, doctor?" Catching the waitress' attention, Skinner waved her over.

"I think you've had enough to drink here," Mulder said, before the waitress could reach their booth. "Someone's gotta drive your car back to your apartment."

X

Conscientiously, Mulder parked in the closest visitor slot to Skinner's space in the parking complex, then promptly arrived to help open the car door. Knowing this was no act of subservience, Skinner could only deduce that the agent's attitude was one of genuine concern.

"You doing okay, sir?" he asked in that cute, soothing voice that sometimes still fluctuated between puberty and adulthood.

"I'm fine," Skinner growled, snapping off his seatbelt. He gathered his overcoat from the passenger seat, then stepped onto the pavement. "You are coming up, aren't you?"

X

This time Mulder displayed some sportsmanship by taking the proffered glass of bourbon. They drank beneath the fluorescent lighting in the kitchen. It was harsh, stark lighting, but didn't diminish Mulder's looks in the least. It was unlikely anything could.

Momentarily, Skinner flashed back on having divulged some personal facts to Mulder never shared with anyone else. Opening the window on some of his harsh experience in the Vietnam war. Skinner recalled admitting to having tried "just about everything" in order to maintain a defense between himself and the surrealistic reality going on around him. Not quite "everything," but he'd been subjected to alternative ideals that never would have occurred to him, otherwise. And though he'd been quick to reject them at the time, there was no denying they had unexpectedly aroused him.

"You haven't answered the question," Skinner pointed out over the lip of his glass. "What should I do with my aggressions?"

"If you solve the main problem, the aggression will eventually no longer be a problem."

Skinner considered. "You said there was hope."

"There is, but it would require some effort from you." With that, Mulder swept from the room.

The tactic was deliberate--to leave Skinner alone a few moments to ponder his options. It didn't take long for him to reach the conclusion Mulder was inferring. Or at least the one Skinner thought he was inferring. Holding the bottle of bourbon, he followed his guest to find him studying the spot-lit bookcase.

"If it wasn't another man," Skinner ventured, "just why did you and Diana break up, anyway?"

"We're discussing your marriage, not mine," Mulder replied, not looking back.

Warily, Skinner approached and eyed his subordinate. "Would have surprised the fuck out of me if that had been the reason."

"I think I already said why . . . " Mulder took a sip from his glass. "I didn't love her. I cared about her--there were things about her I really appreciated. But it had become an exercise in tolerance for me. There was a lot of tension between us. She's a psychologist, too, remember? As a test, she told me about the opportunity in West Germany. All I had to do was make no effort to talk her out of it."

Skinner's subtle survey once again revealed a fit, admirable body. With a bulge impossible to overlook. "There were rumors . . . "

"What rumors were those?"

Wandering to the window-surrounded sofa, Skinner took a seat and set the bottle on the coffee table. He waited until his guest neared. "Let's just say rumors that Diana was very passionately in love with you. To the point of a few possible incidents of impropriety on the job."

"As I said, she was pretty insatiable."

"Then they weren't just rumors?"

"Well, that would depend on the specifics." Mulder perched on the other end of the sofa, smoothing his tie. "And may I remind you, sir, we were married . . . "

In disbelief, Skinner narrowed his eyes. "And you let a woman like that go?"

Before speaking again, Mulder put his glass on the table, as well. "Do you want to know what I think, sir? You and Sharon have all the components to make your marriage work. You're making yourself miserable. You have the capacity to rectify the problem."

It wasn't difficult to envision the Mulders engaged in impromptu, furtive love-making while on stake-out, in the parking garage at the Bureau--probably even in the basement office. But for some reason, Skinner's mental pictures tended to focus mainly on Mulder, rather than the missus. "Is that your prescription then, doctor? Go reconcile with your estranged wife and call me in the morning?"

"Do you mean am I going to abandon you and leave you to figure out the rest by yourself?" Looking to Skinner, Mulder shook his head slightly. "I don't treat suspects that way; I sure as hell wouldn't do that to you, sir. As I said, it would require a lot of work on your part, but I'd be more than willing to help you get through each step."

Undeniably stirred, Skinner kept finding his gaze drawn to course over his subordinate's long, slender legs; the pull of his jacket across his broad back and shoulders; his exquisitely beautiful hands. "I'd appreciate that, agent . . . "

"Then you're willing to reconcile?"

"I'm willing to hear your argument."

Confusion suffused Mulder's innocent looks and he pouted slightly. "If saving your marriage is out of the question, tell me right up front."

"I didn't say it was out of the question." Skinner took another drink. "What did you do after you and Diana had gone your separate ways . . . when you'd wake up alone, aching for . . . gratification?"

Taken off guard, Mulder required some time to respond. "There - there are all kinds of options . . . "

"Why don't you demonstrate?"

Further startled, Mulder laughed. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I think you know what I'm talking about," Mulder deferred with a chuckle, picking up his drink. Then leaned back in his corner of the sofa, knees apart. "So, why don't you tell me--?"

Damn, what a bulge. "I asked for a demonstration."

Sobering slightly, Mulder tried, "Sir, I'm afraid I don't fol--"

"Are you going to force me to make it an order?"

As if struggling for comprehension, Mulder shook his pretty head again, setting his glass down. After which he avoided Skinner's eyes. "E - excuse me, sir, but are you suggesting I give you a hand-job or something along those lines?"

In response, Skinner slid forward to refill their glasses. "Has your social life become so busy since your divorce you've forgotten how to jack-off?"

"You - you're ordering me to jack-off?"

Firmly, Skinner placed Mulder's replenished glass before him, without looking. "If you're refusing, then yes, I'm making it an order." Rising, Skinner took his drink with him to create some space between he and his subordinate.

This gave Mulder time to reorient. After wavering in shock, he found his tongue again. "You sure you wouldn't rather put the Playboy Channel on -- ?"

Yanking his loosened tie from his collar, Skinner snapped. "Dammit, agent, if I wanted to watch the goddamn Playboy Channel I would have thrown you the fuck out of here and turned it on already."

"Forgive my ignorance, sir, but I had no idea you were bisexual."

Pacing away, Skinner growled. "That wasn't an ignorant assessment; I'm not. You happen to be some sort of an exception." At the desk, he put down his drink to take his holster off and unbutton and shove his shirt sleeves up. Because Mulder didn't move even minutely, Skinner barked again. "You heard me, agent!"

That Mulder jumped slightly was encouraging. Slowly, he slid off his jacket and tie. "You realize duress is going to make this difficult . . . "

"I suggest you finish your drink and make it a little easier on yourself."

Fumbling, Mulder accepted the advice and threw back another swallow.

Shirt untucked, belt buckle unfastened, Skinner stood by, ready to pour another helping of bourbon into his guest's glass. "I suppose you're going to tell me you're a die-hard straight."

"N - not exactly," Mulder mumbled into his glass.

Though Skinner had formed his own suspicions, hearing the actual revelation was one hell of a relief. "Well, I'm glad that's out of the way. Here. Give me your clothes."

Collar open, Mulder had ceased. "All of them?"

"What the hell do you think?" Skinner advanced dangerously. "All right, I'll bargain. Take everything off and I'll let you put the dress shirt back on. For a while."

Avoiding Skinner's gaze, Mulder painstakingly unfastened each button. "You know, sir, you can't expect pursuing some wild fling could ever bring you the satisfaction you're seeking. You know what you really want and this isn't working towards achieving that."

"And preaching the canned tripe you learned in psychology class is going to interfere with your ability to perform. I suggest you do a lot less talking and concentrate a lot more on hands-on practice."

Sans his holster, and down to his trousers and stockinged feet, Mulder hesitated once he reached his belt. "Um," he licked his curvaceous lips nervously. "If you really want me to go through with it, it'd help if you put on the Playboy or Spice channel or something, you know?"

An all too telling request. "I've got a better idea." Disturbed, Skinner threw his guest's garments onto the sofa, beside him. "Just get the fuck out." He seized the bourbon bottle and headed for the stairs.

"Sir. Sir!"

Behind him, Skinner heard a minor crash and figured Mulder had probably leapt up and hit the coffee table.

"Ow! Sir." From the sounds of it, Mulder was limping when he followed. "I'm not unwilling to help you."

Skinner proceeded up the stairs. "You know your way to the door."

"The last thing I'd want to do is offend you or put you off. But I've been hit up with stuff like this before."

That figured. That glowing halo Mulder sported was both highly attractive and alluring. Generally, it was when people regarded it as a disadvantage to them, they tended to despise him. Everyone else had nothing but praise. Fitting praise.

Shutting his eyes, Skinner froze his ascent. "Really," he said dryly. "And how many did you let fuck you?"

"I said I was propositioned--I never said I gave in. I think you know me better than that."

In fact, the thought of Mulder "putting out" for anyone was laughable. He'd quit the BSU rather than kiss up to the revered Department Head, Bill Patterson. " . . . I thought I did . . . "

"Sir . . . I really haven't . . . But you've gone above and beyond for the X-Files . . . You deserve a hell of a lot from me and Scully . . . I might even be able to talk her in to giving you a naked lap dance or better."

An interesting proposition but Skinner found Mulder more intriguing. "Either you get the fuck out of my apartment or get your ass on the bed upstairs and jack-off."

X

Jesus, Mulder was a hell of a sight, fully nude. It was no wonder he received a lot of propositions and how and why he'd landed a wife like he'd had. Aside from her intelligence and fantastic body, she'd been so deeply in love with him she'd apparently fucked his brains out. Completely understandable.

Displaying surprising compliance, other than a request for a shower and to brush his teeth, Mulder emerged from the bathroom drying off with a couple of towels, then dropped both to join Skinner on the bed.

Nothing on broadcast TV could rival this. A sweet, flat six-pack, lower abs, and trim hips. A trace of light brown curls from below his belly button to his pubes. Then an admirable length of penis and perfectly sculpted head, despite his reticence. Great legs, too, Skinner was reminded.

Losing all interest in the TV, he yielded command of the remote control to his guest. After a shower as well, Skinner had donned only a pair of silk pajama pants. The very sight of that naked body did incredible things to him.

Settling on a documentary, Mulder drew up his knees, hiding himself. "It's a little cool; would you mind if I get under the blankets?" Without waiting for a reply, he promptly scrambled under the covers.

"Yes, I mind." Skinner whipped the blankets off. "Now start playing with yourself." Before I do, he wanted to add.

"I've kind of never done this before," Mulder pointed out, uncomfortably.

"I imagine not." Nor was it likely he would be able to if he went on watching the Discovery channel.

Slipping from bed, erection tenting the front of his pajamas, Skinner went to his bedroom ET center to screen one of his small collection of adult videos. He made no effort to conceal his arousal--in fact hoped Mulder would see it.

"Are you absolutely sure about this? Mrs. Skinner's a beautiful woman--"

"I'm goddamn sure," Skinner snapped. Readjusting his glasses, he foraged for a tape then slid it into the VCR. "You really think Mrs. Skinner's beautiful?"

"Well . . . yeah . . . "

"I'm just amused because Mrs. Mulder was considered to be quite a looker, herself."

"Wouldn't you rather concentrate--?"

"Don't nag me." With the VCR remote control, Skinner returned to the bed. He saw Mulder had inched the covers just high enough to cover his pubic hair. "I thought I told you to leave the blankets off."

"I'm cold, sir." The erect brunette nipples did suggest this was a possibility.

Rejoining Mulder on the bed, Skinner covered them both this time. "You'll warm up soon enough. Is this programming more conducive?" He gestured at the screen where a couple of women were undressing each other.

Since Mulder didn't elucidate otherwise, Skinner fast-forwarded into the scene the women were eagerly working their double-ended dildo on each other.

"Or perhaps you'd prefer if I cue up to the next segment where some guys join the action," Skinner prompted.

With this, Mulder cleared his throat, gaze fixed on the TV screen. "Um, whatever you prefer, sir . . . "

"Not what I prefer--what you prefer. I'm going to be watching you, not the stupid video."

Shifting, Mulder cleared his throat again. "It doesn't matter that much to me . . . "

Waiting for Mulder's hand to slip beneath the blankets, Skinner probed a little further. "Just what is your experience with the same sex?"

"S - sir . . . You know, it would be a little easier if you quit staring at me."

Sliding into a recline against the black lacquer headboard, Skinner distractedly viewed the video he'd seen numerous times. At last, one sidelong glance to his guest revealed his hand had indeed disappeared beneath the covers, to tug at a suggestive arc in the vicinity of his groin. Keeping his mouth shut, Skinner proceeded to exchange glances between his guest's lap and the TV, maintaining as much discretion as possible.

By resettling beneath the covers, they wound up hiding Mulder's navel, but this gave him more privacy under which to inconspicuously pet. He eventually boasted a nicely impressive tower under the bedclothes.

When Skinner could wait no longer, he slowly drew the covers off. With disarming modesty, Mulder obscured what he could of his most incriminating asset as he hugged it toward his belly. Then he drew his knees up.

"Don't hide," Skinner snapped, annoying. "And don’t stop what you were doing."

Lowering his knees was the only way Mulder responded. Otherwise, he didn't move. Before he'd go limp, Skinner leaned over his subordinate. No resistance was given when Skinner gently drew that pretty, long-fingered hand aside to take over.

-End-


End file.
